Over the top
by Keidus
Summary: "Any man who went over those trenches and said that they weren't scared is a dirty, rotten liar." Private Harry patch – 1898 – 2009 - A English boys last memories- based in ww1, western front. WARNING - Character death


"Any man who went over those trenches and said that they weren't scared is a dirty, rotten liar."

Private Harry patch – 1898 – 2009 -

It was silent.

Momentarily, unbearably, silent.

Then, all at once, the deadly shrieks of eager shells came tearing through the wind and the sky was filled with fire and the ground was lit by light. The melancholic sky witch held a tormented sun scarcely changed. It was grey, deathly grey, and Arthur Kirkland was fine with it as he picked the blood encrusted mud of his boots. If he was about to meet his maker then he would rather it not be sunny and jolly where the butterflies danced by gracefully unaware of the sleeping heads over which they tripped the light fantastic. To him, it was just another war infested day, just another day on the western front in 1917.

Of course he didn't want to die, no one did, well at least not in the trenches he was in. Many of his fellow puppets had tried all their best to be sent home, fiend madness and illness. None, however, succeeded. Slowly Arthur straightened his back , which let out disapproving cracking sounds in protest, and made his way numbly to meet the other soldiers, already lining up, waiting for the greatly undesired signal.

Arthur tries to remember. Remember the happier, joy filled times in his 17 years, but cannot. His heart is beating so fast he can't hear himself think. His mouth is dry yet his eyes are wet. If any one were to enquire about this he would tell them it was the smoke from his last cigarette, it had made his eyes water. Either way, he couldn't hide the truth from his self, and it hurt him even more.

He was scared.

Arthur Kirkland was undeniably, indescribably scared.

The boy who had straw for hair and an innocent smile who left pretty girls flowers, who never turned down a chance to kick the ball was now left with snapped twigs for hair an unmoving frown and the posture and mindset of that trice his age. He had only been on the front line for 5 days and in that little time it changed him from a boy into a man which had seen enough to know it was wrong to laugh. It angered him that innocent people were dying. It angered him that he was going to die.

But

He wouldn't break down. He was an English man and the English were everything except cowards. He would give his life, leave his wife at home, and bid farewell to the world if it was for his country, for the innocent back home. He just whished that when he finally laid down to rest, he could at least be filled with merriment but with the look of the monochrome sky, it wasn't likely to happen.

"Company, One pace forward!"

Arthur sombrely shuffled forward, watching as a single tear fell from his glassy eyes.

"Stand ready!"

Unsteady arms lifted his rifle and at this point he turned around and saw the sickly white faces, covered in mud, awaiting death and his welcoming arms. At any other time he would have smiled, these men were brave and represented their country well, but it wasn't any other time. It was a time of dread and of broken men.

"On the signal company will advance!"

His tears were flowing freely now and he could feel them burning at his skin and soul. He didn't want to die. He shouldn't be about to die! He should be at home with his wife and walking their dog enjoying his life-

The whistles sounded then and everything, every single thought dispersed from his mind. Arthur Kirkland had a duty to his king and country and never would he dishonour his name. With one ungraceful jump he leapt into the veils of death upon no man's land. Through the smoke he saw fire; he saw body parts and he saw his dear wife's smiling face, then nothing.

Under the same melancholic sky and in the same bloodied mud, his body fell limp and lifeless, entangling limbs with wire and sinking down. Like that, in a split second, his life was lost among many more.

It was just like any other day in 1917.

There was silence, then far away, the thundering of guns.


End file.
